Infinitely Losing My Edge
Yeah, I'm losing my edge.
I'm losing my edge.
The kids are coming up from behind.
I'm losing my edge.
I'm losing my edge to the kids from Tajikistan and from Taipei.
But I was there.
I was there in 1979.
I was there at the first Second Layer show in South London.
I'm losing my edge.
I'm losing my edge to the kids whose footsteps I hear when they get on the decks.
I'm losing my edge to the internet seekers who can tell me every member of every good group from 1964 to 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Johannesburg and Sao Paulo.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Hong Kong kids in little jackets and borrowed nostalgia for the unremembered nineties.
I'm losing my edge.
I'm losing my edge.
I can hear the footsteps every night on the decks.
But I was there.
I was there in 1968 at the first Can practice in a loft in Cologne.
I was working on the rhodes sounds with much patience.
I was there when Captain Beefheart started up his first band.
I told him, "Don't do it that way. You'll never make a dime."
I was there.
I was the first guy playing Cluster to the rap kids.
I played it at the Troubador.
Everybody thought I was crazy.
We all know.
I was there.
I was there.
I've never been wrong.
But I'm losing my edge to better-looking people with better ideas and more talent.
And they're actually really, really nice.
I'm losing my edge.
I heard you have a compilation of every good song ever done by anybody.
Every great song by Adolescents. All the underground hits.
All Wally Richardson tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Subhumans record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rap hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying an oboe and a marimba and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Pussy Galore record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a sitar.
I hear that you and your band have sold your sitar and bought a chamberlin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
June of 44,
DNA,
Warsaw,
Frankie Knuckles,
Unwound,
The Standells,
Underground Resistance,
Freddie Wadling,
Sällskapet,
The Saints,
Mandrill,
Buzzcocks,
Rekid,
The Doors,
Todd Rundgren,
New Order,
Lower 48,
B.T. Express,
Make Up,
Robert Wyatt,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
Pantaleimon,
David Axelrod,
Blossom Toes,
Graham Central Station,
Joy Division,
K-Klass,
Kool G Rap & DJ Polo,
Marvin Gaye,
Banda Bassotti,
The Names,
Pantytec,
Terry Callier,
Crime,
Subhumans,
Eric B and Rakim,
Soulsonic Force,
Reuben Wilson,
The Seeds,
Absolute Body Control,
the Soft Cell,
Tommy Roe,
F. McDonald,
The Shadows of Knight,
Mo-Dettes,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
David Bowie,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
The Offenders,
Bobby Hutcherson,
Derrick May,
The Smiths,
Darondo,
Crooked Eye,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
Bauhaus,
Maleditus Sound,
Roger Hodgson,
Howard Jones,
The Gap Band,
Sun Ra,
Lalo Schifrin,
Yusef Lateef, Yusef Lateef, Yusef Lateef, Yusef Lateef.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.